Lessons from My Piano Teacher

"Yes, sir," I said, closing my eyes, trying to savour every last spank so the memory could hold me over until the next time.

Each of the last three stung worse than all the others. I cried out a surprised yelp each time I felt the hot sting cross my lower bottom, and I swayed helplessly forward.

I froze where I was, waiting for his instruction, the sting spreading over my skin. I was just aching for him now after that. He took such charge there, and gave me a sound and prolonged punishment. God. How was I supposed to do things like prepare dinner and finish up a sales report for work after a moment like that?

"You can stand," he said.

"Thank you, sir," I said, turning to face him. I hoped my gratitude would be enough to encourage him to do it again. And again.

"It's about time for me to go. I want you to practice more next time. And... maybe you should put away those clothes."

I turned to look at them, the pile that had been waiting for weeks to be hung in the closet upstairs. I was humbled into looking up at him most submissively. "I will, sir."

We stood at the door next, the best and worst place, where he entered and where he left. Behind Steven I saw the clouds cast pink by the sunset. I didn't want him to leave even more than I didn't want him to leave the week before.

"There's a concert on Saturday evening," he said. "A string quartet. Friends of mine. I have two tickets if you'd like to go with me."

He rewarded me with a smile when I agreed, and told me to be ready at seven. A minute later I watched his car blend into the traffic at the intersection, and then helplessly hurried to my bedroom. I slid under the sheets, as if trying to hide my shame over my deep, pulsing arousal. My hand slipped down my stomach and under my panties, and I rubbed myself frantically, the gentle warmth of his lingering spanks helping push me over the edge. At the end, his name was on my lips.

"You look beautiful," he told me.

I acted like I'd just thrown on any old thing, as we all do, but I'd spent an hour picking out this evening gown. And another hour on my hair and makeup.

I took in the sight of my date, my eyes scanning from his neat haircut to his shiny shoes and back up again. Steven normally dressed formally, but now he was in a full suit, tailored and all. I was so glad I wasn't the one driving, so I could glimpse him whenever I chose.

"What got you interested in taking piano lessons again anyway?" he asked.

It was fun to be inside the car I usually watched drive away. It was kept fastidiously clean, as I'd imagined. I watched headlights dance by as I thought about my answer.

"I was at a friend's birthday party, and things were getting quiet. Someone noticed the piano in her living room. I hadn't had a lesson since I was a teenager, so luckily someone else there sat down. This guy played a piano version of a Beatles song, just off the top of his head like that, and everyone got a second wind. I vowed I'd be able to do that one day. Just sit down at any old piano and fill the silence with an old Beatles song if I wanted."

"Oh dear, and here I am teaching you Chopin."

"Everyone's got to start somewhere," I said.

He laughed, having the decency to take the joke without taking offence alongside. But I knew classical music meant the world to him. I was less clear on all the rest, most especially why he had such a natural inclination to take charge of me.

Even as he walked me inside tonight for the concert, there were undertones. Steven held my hand as some sort of extension of holding all of me. He led me that way, past the mezzanine and further up the stairs to the balcony, and I followed without question.

I soon sat by his side in the dark and let the music take over all my other senses. He only leaned over to whisper once. "Do you hear that, between the two violins? Like they're falling in love?"

It took a moment, but I could hear what he meant. There was a back and forth, a game, a chase, and a crescendo when they met at last. "I do hear it," I told him. "It's beautiful." Steven seemed relieved, maybe not just because I could understand the emotions he sensed, but that I tried at all.

"It's beautiful," he agreed.

"You know, it's a lot like the Chopin piece you started me on, isn't it?"

Steven gave me the kind of smile that let me know I was right, but kept his silence on the matter.

After the concert he took me to meet all four musicians backstage. They all shook my hand with their biggest smiles and some pats on the back for my date. "I'm so happy for you, Steven. You finally used your second ticket. I was afraid you'd given up!" That was all the cellist could say before the viola player jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow. Then there were some awkward laughs and a change in topic, back to their performance tonight.

He took me to dinner, one of those places with a sommelier. Normally I didn't go to restaurants like this, but I suppose it only made sense after a classical music concert. I squinted at the menu in the dim candlelight, drawing it nearer to my eyes.

"Do you normally wear glasses to read?"

"Well, I'm supposed to. I carry a pair in my purse. But I look so-"

"Put on your glasses," he said. It was an order, of a sort. Not barked at me but said just like anything else tonight. "You'll hurt your pretty eyes, Penelope."

I retrieved them, bashfully looking down at my menu, amazed at how every word came into focus. He was right.

Steven's hand reached across the table to hold mine. "Good girl," he said. "And you still look beautiful."

I felt like I could turn into a puddle of water, and he'd find a way to scoop me up and not miss a drop. But I wasn't good at expressing myself through anything other than the written word, so all I did was breathe out a shy half a laugh.

We spent dinner talking about books and music and our hobbies, but not about whatever made Steven nearly 'give up' on romance. Once the din around us reached an appropriate level of noise, we had ourselves a secret conversation right here in the crowd.

"I hope you were able to sit down again after last week," teased Steven. Then, more seriously, "I hope it wasn't too much."

"No," I said. "I loved every second. Even when it stung. Especially when it stung. This is so embarrassing."

"We can't help what we like," he said, laying a comforting hand over mine. He rubbed his thumb over my fingers.

"I think I've always liked this, as far back as I can remember. Have you?"

"I'm the same," he admitted. "Though, I didn't enjoy getting my wrists smacked in university."

"You prefer to be the one doing the smacking."

"Yes," he said. "Oh that sounds awful. It's not because I want to hurt you. Far from it."

I could tell that, but it seemed important to him that I knew for sure. It wasn't sadism that motivated him. I wasn't exactly sure, but had to guess it was something about the way he liked some control over everything in his life. His perfectly clean car, his polished appearance, his practiced fingers working precise movements over the piano keys. I did want to know, though.

"Well, um, why is it then? Why do you want to take charge of me?"

He shook his head, and by this time the tables around us had quieted enough that our furtive little talk could potentially be overheard. Either way, he didn't want to talk about it yet, most evident by the way he kept pressing his cloth napkin against his mouth, as though literally holding it shut.

By the time he was driving me home I came to realize that 'taking charge of me' might not be the fairest representation of what Steven was doing. 'Caring' was a more fitting term. He never led me anywhere I didn't wish to go, he wanted what was best for me, and he even rescued my purse when I'd left it on my seat at the restaurant.

The night ended with us standing a beat too long at my door. I thanked him for the amazing evening, but didn't disappear inside. So he took the hint and kissed me there under the amber glow of my porch lights. It was sweet and soft and I wanted more of him. But that was all I got. So that night my bed was too big and lonely once again.

I spent most of my week cleaning the house from top to bottom, doing all my laundry, and changing out the bed sheets, just in case. A huge part of me still wanted his praise. I wanted him to notice no dishes in the sink, and that the couch no longer had a pile of wrinkled laundry.

There were other things I wanted from Steven. I wore my cutest matching bra and panties. I wanted him to see them today. Then I wanted them crumpled on the ground.

He showed up exactly on time, still doing his best impression of a metronome. Inside, he stood by the piano instead of taking a seat nearby. His right hand clutched his left.

"Penelope," he said, "I've been thinking about something. I need to quit."

My entire romantic life flashed before my eyes right then and there. What had I done wrong? I thought it went so well. "What?"

"You didn't do anything wrong. I just can't take you out for dates and kiss you and also accept payments for lessons. I think it's unprofessional."

It was a tremendous relief he still wanted to date me. But a very childish part of me wanted no change at all. I wanted him to teach me piano from now until forever. It wouldn't feel the same with anyone else. I tried to express myself maturely, but I still sounded like a little girl. "No, I only want you."

"Fine. You're very sweet. I'll teach you. But I can't accept payment, then. You'll be unofficial. Off the books and on the house."

"Really?" I checked. When he nodded, I hugged him so much that he ended up lifting me up off my feet. "Thank you thank you thank you."

The exuberance made him laugh lightly. Right in the middle of this big happy hug, he noticed my tidy house and told me how impressed he was with all my hard work. I felt so happy about Steven complimenting my cleaning, like having Picasso compliment your painting.

Unfortunately I neglected my health a little this week. It wasn't at all intentional. Things were so busy at work and with scrubbing and organizing my house, that I wasn't eating nearly as much as I should. I had half a bowl of cereal today, in total, and it was nearly time for dinner. Terrible decision.

When I stepped back from the hug, my head went light. I swayed and stumbled dizzily before Steven managed to steady me. He guided me over to the sofa, the one where all the clean laundry used to collect, and he lay me on my back.

"Are you alright? Would you like some water? Should I call an ambulance?"

I didn't want an ambulance, that was for sure. So I quickly confessed about the lack of proper food the past few days, and his unsmiling lips pressed together into a line.

The first thirty minutes of our lesson was now Steven making a quick sandwich in my kitchen and sitting beside me while I ate. He was stroking my hair, rubbing my back, all very kind. But I knew the entire time how much trouble I'd gotten myself into today. He didn't bring it up until I'd fully recovered my strength.

"You need to take better care of yourself," he said. "You could have gotten hurt."

"I'm sorry. I'm better now, though."

"Good. I'm very glad. Because I think you deserve a spanking, young lady."

The word spanking hung in the air and I froze and swallowed hard. My heart was fluttering, so excited it nearly became anxious instead. He didn't say a smack or two, it sounded like this time he really meant it. I'd be over his lap and everything. I finally managed to agree with a quiet, "Yes, sir. I do."

Steven hoisted me up a little like a rag doll, his arms under my own, and the next thing I knew I was face down over his lap. I'd always been petite but he was certainly stronger than he seemed with his slim build.

Most of me rested on the couch, lower than my propped up backside. Just as when I leaned over the piano bench last week, I could feel the hem of my skirt high up on my thigh.

"You can't just ignore your own basic needs, Penelope."

"I'm sorry, sir."

He stroked a cupped hand over the curve of my cheeks, and I couldn't stop a moan from escaping my throat. Always such a good listener, attuned to all sound, Steven understood me then. I'd given him express permission to go further, and so he lifted my skirt up, leaving just my panty-clad bottom over his leg. Did he notice how cute they looked on me? I hoped.

His hand caressed overtop of the silky fabric for a long and deeply arousing moment. Steven had such control over his hands, over every slight movement of his fingers. Now they were over me, exploring the feel of me. I sighed hard, arching up into his cupped hand. Right after that shameless display, his fingertips found their way into the waistband of my cute little panties. He slowly drew them down to my knees.

I squirmed in shame, feeling the air against my bare skin. What a position to be in, bare bottomed and draped over my handsome piano teacher's knees. It was utterly humiliating and yet exactly where I wanted to be now. So I made sure I was totally compliant as he arranged me a little, making my bottom a more prominent target by pushing me gently forward. I realized he did little things like this right before he played the piano too, adjusting the seat and getting a feel for the pedals and keys.

"Are you ready, Penelope?"

"Yes, sir," I said, squeezing my eyes shut.

He spanked the middle of my right cheek enough to make it smart, and before I could linger on the feeling my left cheek burned next. It went on like that, back and forth, his hand now focusing most on the rounded underside of my cheeks. I squeaked out these pathetic little cries at each spank, but he never went beyond my limit. Just as he heard my moans and sighs a moment ago, he heard my yelps and cries now. If I became too sharp or frantic, he adjusted accordingly.

I couldn't help but keep focusing on the big picture, me over his lap like this, bared and getting my bottom warmed by his magnificently talented hand. I felt so embarrassed and small, but underneath that so secretly safe and secure. Steven was there to catch me and teach me a lesson before I could really hurt myself.

I bucked over his lap with each spank now, as Steven at some point decided I was able to handle a firmer hand.

"Ooow!" I cried. "I won't do it again!"

"You'll take care of yourself properly?"

"I promise! Aahh! Ow!"

"You're getting pretty red. But I can do better."

"Noo! Please! Aah!"

I began to kick my legs and try to cover my bottom with my hands as he tirelessly peppered me with spanks. Steven held my hands away as he finished the last of his work on my behind. At this point, right in the moment, it felt like I was a naughty, remorseful girl. I truly regretted making the choices that led me here. He would have gone so much easier on me if I'd taken better care of myself, I know it. I would have been spanked today no matter what, but this one really stung.

His hand rested over me, but stopped spanking. "Tomorrow you'll eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

"Yes, sir."

He helped me up and even helped me dress. After my panties were back up and my skirt back down, he gave me a hug, and dried the little tears that escaped the corners of my eyes. Then, to my surprise, he told me to sit at the piano bench.

"It's already a quarter to six and we haven't even started," he scolded me. All due to my poor self-care, I knew. It was a good thing I was his last student of the day.

I squeaked like a mouse when I sat down on my spanked bottom, never having felt more chastised in my adult life.

Eventually, during the warmup scales, the stinging felt less sharp, and more like a hot glow encompassing my entire backside. The feeling was intoxicating and arousing, knowing I'd been spanked so soundly, and that it might happen again if I deserved it. My eyes found Steven instead of the keys.

"Yes?" he asked.

"A lot of the things you want me to do are only for me. Like cleaning my house, and eating enough healthy food, and even becoming better at piano."

"Correct," he said.

"But what do you get out of it?"

"Seeing someone I care for happy and healthy and thriving."

"That's so sweet. But what can I do for your happiness?"

Admittedly, I expected he'd say something about what part of him I could please with my mouth. But he said something I wasn't expecting at all.

"Just be faithful, honest, and kind."

"That seems like the bare minimum."

"You'd be surprised," he said.

So he'd been burned. That's why he'd spent so many years as a bachelor, and why his friends were so shocked to see me as his date at the concert. Steven was contemplative now, looking down at his hands folded in his lap.

"We were together for three years, and she just-"

"You don't have to tell me the details. I would never. It's awful someone did that to you."

"Thank you," he said.

I gave him a little silence to quell his inner turmoil. He only took a moment to do that, before turning to me again. "You've clearly wanted this for a while yourself."

"I have," I admitted. "It's exactly what I need. I love how you treat me and punish me and guide me. I'm just not good with most of the details of life. I'm not naturally organized and neat and so perfect like you."

"I'm not perfect," he said.

"You are."

"I'm not," he insisted. Then he quite suddenly confessed to teaching piano - instead of performing - because he had unbearable stage fright. Even an anxiety prescription from his doctor couldn't get him through a performance. He hadn't played on stage in a decade. So I hugged him tight.

I felt like I could see more of the real him now, after about six months of the illusion of perfection. I still liked what I saw... maybe even more, knowing he was so human and complicated. I just wanted to know more and more, learn him inside and out. Already his desire to care for me made a lot of sense. He probably felt safer when in complete control, but his kind heart made certain that he was loving and gentle about it.

As I went back to my lesson, working on the romantic Chopin piece he'd chosen for me, I noticed he wasn't smacking my wrists. Not even if I dropped them, or made obvious errors.

"Is it all different now?" I asked, worried.

"Yes and no," he said. "But in this case, I'm counting. I'll take care of your corrections later. All at once."

I licked my lips. My arousal impeded my concentration, and suddenly I was accidentally adding to the count he kept. After all this time of practice and conversation, my bottom had recovered. Even the warm glow had gone.

Now I missed it. The memory of him spanking me earlier flashed through my mind. It felt incredible to be so helplessly under his full control. At some point I'd frozen over the keys and stopped playing completely. Did he count every second that ticked by in silence?

His lap called to me, and this time I sat on it face up, turned to him, eye to eye. There were fifteen minutes left of our unofficial and late lesson, but he didn't stop me. His long fingers ran down my arms, stroking my skin. He clutched my wrists and then pressed them gently behind my back, kissing me deeply. I could feel him growing under me, hardening as I moaned against his lips.

I squirmed delightfully in the bonds of his hands, grinding into him as he went to work kissing down my neck. My moans were incessant, every exhale turned into one. I had waited so long for this. Every little smack from his ruler or spank from his hand seemed like the slowest foreplay, leading up to right now.

"Mm," he moaned too, pulling my shirt up and off. He kissed my cleavage, and feeling me over my bra. Suddenly he hiked my skirt up, looking at the front of my panties, noticing my lingerie matched. He must have known I'd done that for him, with his little grin.